


Sir Winchester of Kansas

by thatgaywizard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Dean-centric fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Questing, This is all totally self indulgent and ridiculous as always., dean/knight, dean/prince, horses and armour, knights in shining armour, smutty eventually, sword and sorcery, temporarily transported
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29989938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgaywizard/pseuds/thatgaywizard
Summary: "I tell you one thing, there's no way I'm kissin' a damn frog."At least that's what he told Sam, but Dean may just have to go back on that oath, because during a good old witch hunt he's thrust directly into the plot line of a hero's journey sword and sorcery style. Sam would have been better for this job but he's not here and Dean can't leave this fairytale land until he's reached the end of the story and saved the princess...or more accurately, the prince.
Relationships: Dean/ other OMC, Dean/OMC
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was entirely inspired by the Bedtimes Stories episode and also Larp and the Real Girl, of course. Kinda canon compliant, and tbh if Charlie can disappear into a fantasy world in the show then technically it's a canon alt universe in SPN. Right? RIGHT?  
> Anyway, I just wanted to see Dean romance some men of Chivalry and parade around in medieval clothes. I made a joke that if he said he wasn't gonna kiss any frogs did that make him the princess? I'll be posting as I edit chapters.

Dean crept past the sweeping folds of the green tent and looked around the large interior. The place was set up like some _ye_ _olde_ timey pavilion with a giant fur rug ( not a very realistic one) and a canopied queen bed. There was a bowl that looked like it was supposed to be a wash basin on a table and a poorly constructed wooden chair. The only thing glaringly out of place with the theme was a pair of modern reading glasses on the bed.

No one was around. He searched the room looking for any clue that could lead them to the witch, his hand ready to reach for his gun- not that these skinny table cloth wearing “pole bearers” were going to be much trouble for him but something else could pop up any time. There was certainly enough weird shit going on to warrant it. 

Under all the “scrolls” with hand drawn maps that littered the table sat something large. His mind reflexively recognized it as a spellbook, but when he pushed the parchment aside he realized it was just a story book, or it appeared to be anyway, and an old one at that. Flaky brown leather covered the voluminous tome. The letters on the front read: _The Tales of Orkin._ He felt he had better take a look, just in case. The thick cover did not resist him as he turned it over to uncover the first page. The paper was yellowed and crisping at the edges and the words looked painstakingly hand written in a tiny arcing script. 

“These people are dedicated, I’ll give them that,” he muttered. He read only the first line which seemed to start with “ _Once upon a time…”_

“Very original,” he muttered and turned to a deeper part of the book, this page was also covered in swirling little letters top to bottom. He flipped a few more pages over. Maybe it _was_ just a regular old book. He didn't have time for fairy tales. He was about to close the thing and walk away but the next page caught his interest and he hesitated.

“The trials of _Mvnus Qvora_?” he read, trying to figure out exactly how it was pronounced but half of the words seemed to be in some other language than English. The page had circular diagrams filled with what looked like they were supposed to be animals but they had suffered from some very creative liberties. He didn’t recognize any of them as real creatures. They looked like a collection of Hieronymus Bosch’s greatest hits, which usually meant _demons_. He traced the largest circle in the center of the page with his finger- for a second the script seemed to flash like it was gilded with gold glitter. He blinked hard. It looked normal... no gilt or glitter, but he remained suspicious. 

He went to flip the page but a noise at the front of the tent made him turn sharply. The crease of his finger caught the edge of the page as he pulled his hand away and his skin stung with the bite of a sharp paper cut. The whole tent seemed to ripple as if the wind shook it. There were voices outside. 

At the opening of the flaps he pressed himself as close to the side as he could, waiting to ambush whoever entered but the voices mysteriously seemed to vanish and things grew quiet again. But they didn’t just drift away. They vanished all at once. And then another sound came in slowly to replace them. This time there was something more serious about it. Clattering metal and the crashing sound of boots- armor maybe- but he hadn’t seen anyone in actual armor during the fair. That didn’t mean there _wasn’t_ anyone wandering around in a full suit of armor, he almost would have bet money there were at least a few, but this sounded like a lot more than just one or two people.

The procession seemed to be heading towards this tent and he didn’t think it was a smart idea to just waltz outside now, but no other escape route presented itself to him as he looked around. He could probably work his way under the tent fabric or cut a hole if he had to.

And that was just what he was hurriedly attempting to do when a high feminine voice intruded on him. He froze and looked back at the woman who had come in and stood glaring at him. She wore a huge gown, with ivory fountains of fabric blooming out from her hips and bodice cinched waist. The dress had puffy shoulders that ran down into long thin sleeves. She looked like she had robbed Cate Blanchette’s wardrobe on the set of Elizabeth. She even kind of looked like Cate Blanchette but then again, a lot of tall frightening women with long golden hair in medieval regalia did…

“Why are you in my tent?” She demanded to know.

“I uh,” Dean fumbled for an excuse, hiding his knife behind his back, “I was sent...to speak with you.” He nodded. What the hell, wasn’t _Charlie_ the queen? 

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you here about my husband?”

He raised his eyebrows, leaning forward in confusion for a second before jumping on the bandwagon. “Yes! That’s right. That’s why I am here. I am here about your husband.”

She looked annoyed by that but resigned to whatever it meant. She went and took a seat in a chair. This one had red velvet lining sewn into it and looked far more plush than he recalled it being. She rubbed her brow. “Fetch me my wine.”

Dean resisted the immediate impulse to look confused or say “huh?” again, and decided she was definitely telling _him_ to get the wine, although she did not look at him or address him directly. He looked around hastily and saw a wine bottle in a basket on the tablet with a wicker bottom wrapped around its base. There were cups nearby- had there been cups before? Had there been _wine_ before?? He could have sworn there was only one table earlier. He went and got the wine and brought her one of the cups as well. The cup was what he assumed a goblet was supposed to look like, but this one was shallow and jewel encrusted around the rim- not a bad touch. His fake sword bumped the table, he kept forgetting it was on his belt. 

He did a double take at the tables. Where was the book? It had been there. Right there on the corner of the table, but it was definitely gone now. A book that size didn’t just up and vanish into thin air. 

He went over to the woman and handed her the empty cup which he then poured the wine into, some reflexive skill from pretending to wait tables and bar tend taking over and he managed it gracefully enough.

She did not thank him or even watch him do it. She drank from the stemmed cup and only then did she look up at him through her clutch of golden eyelashes. Her eyes were a very pale aquamarine. Her beauty and demeanor was unusually intimidating. He couldn’t even bring himself to flirt with her despite the fact that she was kind of a babe.

“Sir Winchester, isn’t it?”

Dean gawked at her. How the hell did she know his name? “Uh, y-yes.”

“I assume you have news.”

“News?”

“Of my husband? _The king_?” she said with growing impatience. 

“Your husband. Right. Yeah, uh, the news is, um. The news about your husband is,” his words stretched on as his mind fumbled over itself to figure out how to spin this one.Was it too soon to offer her more wine? “There is no _new_ news!”

She made a sound of disgust. “Then why are you _here_? Should you not be out looking for him?”

“Yes of course. Of course- _your majesty_ ”- she looked at him again oddly and he realized that was probably the wrong honorary title- “that’s exactly what I should be doing. I’ll just. Do that. Right now.”

He walked backwards a couple steps. He set the wine down. It was time to make his escape. 

Before he got the tent flaps she had already begun to ignore him. 

The relief he felt at leaving her presence lasted merely a second before he was taken aback by a wholly new level of disorientation. The tent was- had been- in a dry thin forest before, just beyond the field where all the renaissance vendors and activities were set up but now- _now._ Now there was no forest. He stood dumbfounded and looked at the vast rolling hills ahead of him and the bright green grass underfoot and across those hills. The sky was brilliant blue overhead without a cloud. 

On either side of him two armored men stood guard. He stared at one of them so long that the guard eventually cleared his throat roughly to warn Dean off. This wasn’t any renaissance fair getup. These guys looked like they had the real deal. The polished metal on their shoulders was etched with minute fanciful detail and their lances had seen use.

His own costume must have looked ridiculous now and completely fake. Because it was. Or had been. It hadn’t even looked that convincing at the ren fair. He looked down at his tunic and realized he was no longer wearing his costume, well he was, but it had changed. It took a moment of puzzlement to figure out why it was different but as Dean ran his hand over the front of the tunic he noticed the leather was thicker and of better quality, but more than that, it was covered entirely with chainmail! Or part of it anyway, and the small chainmail costume piece he had worn around his neck was now a fuller set of well wrought silver links falling completely over his shoulders and chest. And his bracers were no longer wrapped with cheap leather straps but laced tightly with fine leather cord. The weight of it suddenly became apparent to him but it wasn’t as overwhelming as he would have predicted.

Banners were rippling in the breeze nearby from tall poles and there were people, so many more people than before. 

He had no idea where he was.

He walked in a daze away from the tent. There were so many armored knights. Knights! They were frigging knights. On horses! And boys in tunics. At least the costumes looked authentic now. Some of the colors were much brighter, while others were far more dull and ragged. The queens tent was a glaring exception in brilliant yellow and red stripes. Painted wooden shields rested against racks of bows. A dragon crest decorated the front of the shield nearest that he could see.

“Dragons. Hell yeah.” He smiled involuntarily before he schooled his features again as he looked around at the seemingly boundless landscape where there was no sign of Sam or the impala, or the fake orc who had been put in the stocks. 

“Oh I am royally boned.” He scoffed at his words as he recalled the queen. “Well, probably won’t get that lucky. Hey”- he snatched the collar of a young boy running past-“hey, page boy.”

“I’m not a page,” the child said tartly. He had a truly terrible haircut that hung straight across his forehead.

“Yeah whatever- listen. Who’s the king here?”

“Who’s the king? Are you some sort of dullard?”

“I don’t know what that means. Just answer the question.”

“King Ceridwen of course.”

“Right. Right answer. And uh, where is he right now?”

“How should I know? No one has seen the king since last season.”

“What’s the date? When was he last seen?” It was ridiculously hard to try and lie when you didn’t know who or where you were, or who anyone else was for that matter.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what day it is?” _That’s right._ Make the kid feel like _he’s_ the idiot.

“Of course I do! It’s the third of Junis in the year seven forty. Will you let me go now?”

“Yeah just one more question. Do you know who Charlie Bradbury is?” The boy shook his head. “What about a Gilda?”

_“Who?”_

Dean let the kid go. “Alright you passed the test. Get out of here.”

The boy wrinkled his nose up at him and ran off, leaving Dean to figure out how to proceed. Fortunately he was saved the trouble by a short man in a robe ambling up to him with two ponies in tow.

“There you are, Milord!”

“Have we met?” Dean asked, wondering how the hell these people knew who he was.

“No, but your crest,”- the man gestured to Dean’s back and Dean had no idea what that might have meant. Was he wearing some sort of crest?- “I was told to find you. The queen thought you might need a horse.”

Dean’s eyes went wide as the large animals trotted closer. Horses? Ponies? He had no idea what the difference was. The animals snorted and huffed ambivalently. 

“A horse? Why would I- why did she think that?” 

The little man who looked like a friar in his belted linen robe looked perplexed. “I was told you were traveling to the duchy of Worcheshire.”

“I am? I mean, yes. I am.” Dean deliberated. He really _really_ did not want to get on a horse. He didn’t want to go to the duchy of Worwickwhatever. 

“Do you have a horse of your own then?”

“I figured I’d... just walk.” Dean gave him a painfully forced smile.

“Walk?" The man sounded politely aghast. "But sire, it’s a least a day’s ride from here.” 

“Is it?” Dean grimaced and looked around. “Alright, fine... I guess I…” he stared ruefully at the giant creature before him that he had absolutely never ridden before in his life, “I guess I could use a horse.” 

The animals seemed pleasant enough, but still, he approached them with extreme apprehension while the monk watched him with his own growing dis-ease.

“Hey there fella,” Dean patted the horse on the neck. “Good boy.” He couldn't help but notice there were two horses. “So, you comin’ along?”

“Me? Oh nonono, far too much to do here. This other horse is for Sir Jediver. You can have your pick though if you would like.”

Dean was so far out of his element it was unreal. Everything was unreal actually. “Geez, I don’t know. Why don’t you choose for me?”

“They’re both more than satisfactory. These horses belonged once to Sir Ludwin and Sir Hamlen.”

“Once?”

“Um, yes, they eh, won’t be needing them anymore,” the man said trying to skirt the topic before continuing. “Greyfell is mild and not over fond of taking commands. Breago is a strong horse but a bit willful- if you get my meaning.”

Dean gave him a nod and a half smile, but he did not in fact get his meaning. “Mild. Let’s go with mild.” 

The monk handed Dean the reins to the lighter horse with a flaxen mane and led the other away. Dean followed him, the reins of the horse in hand, and thus the horse following as well. It was rather disconcerting. He had never led anything this large anywhere- apart from Sam.

“So, the king, is he in this Worchestersauce?”

“The king? Have you heard so?”

“Well, rumors and what not.”

“It was the last place he was seen. No one has heard word since then.”

“Kidnapped by trolls then,” Dean said sarcastically.

“Trolls?” the man looked alarmed. “I should think not. Varians more likely. It’s not my place sir, but if you ask me, I think it’s more likely he’s run off than been kidnapped. Prince Ceridwin was never keen on getting married. But,” the monk added hastily, “who wouldn’t want to marry our fair queen Toranan? I doubt he needed much encouragement.” 

“Is that right?” Dean wasn’t really paying attention. He was distracted once again by the surroundings and the realization that they had what seemed to be a small army here. “Is there some kind of a battle going on?”

The monk tossed a quizzical look back at him. “Milord?”

Dean sighed, he was going to have to get used to people thinking he was crazy until he figured all this out. “Never mind. So who’s this Jediver guy?”

“Sir Jediver is a knight in the service of Lord Earlheart. He will be going to Worcheshire as well.”

“Oh will he? Well that’s just...just awesome.” Dean wished he could have meant it but the whole situation left him winded. Then again, a real knight? That sounded pretty cool.

“Before I head out I really need to grab a few things,” Dean told the robed man.

“Certainly,” the man said. He didn’t seem to think it was any of his business when Dean chose to do what. “The horses will be here when you return.”

Dean didn’t waste any time retracing his steps back up the hill. It wasn’t going to go over well he wagered, showing up at the queen’s tent again empty handed but he had to check for the book one more time. It might have been his only way back. He saw with relief when he approached the large bright tent that it was unoccupied now. The queen and her unit had moved on. He was able to stroll right in unheeded. 

There he looked under every table and scrap of fabric in the place and found no sign of the book. It had been his only link to the real world- his world. He had no other clue as to where he was, and yet, everyone seemed to know him here. It was like he had a role to play and he knew how these things usually went. If he played along it could eventually lead him to the answer, or to whoever was responsible. At least he hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

Riding a horse, Dean decided once he’d made it back to the little Friar man,, was nothing like learning to ride a bike. At least with a bike you decided where you went, even if that meant crashing in a ditch, but a horse had a mind of its own, literally, and this one seemed to only be interested in chewing the things in its immediate surroundings.

He had been more concerned about actually getting  _ on  _ the horse than anything else and now that he had managed that with relative ease (after all, he’d ridden a mechanical bull, how hard could this be?) he was faced with the new problem: actually trying to move the thing.

“You might have to be a bit more commanding with this one,” the monk said holding his balled fists in front of him and giving them an encouraging little shake. There was reservation in his voice as if he didn’t feel it was his place to be telling _ a knight _ how to handle his horse but it was too painful to watch this one struggle.

“Commanding? Sure, yeah. I can do that. Come on horse, let’s go.” He tapped the reins against the horse’s neck but it continued to trim the roadside weeds diligently. How did they do it in movies? “Come on! Ya!” he butted the horse with the heels of his boots and the horse jolted into motion so suddenly he nearly toppled right off. “Whoa, whoa!” He drew back on the reins and the horse slowed to a casual walk- thank god. He wasn’t sure if that was just luck or if he had done it right. He could get the hang of this eventually, if he just managed to make it down the hill. But the horse was moving now at least even if he had no idea how to stop it. Dean twisted awkwardly realizing he hadn’t even asked where this stupid town was he was headed to. “Hey! How do I get to Woostershire?”

“Follow the road, you can’t miss it,” the monk called. “And Sir Winchester,” he added with a hint of urgency in his voice, “do not stray from the path!”

Follow the road. Alright. Simple enough.“At least I don’t have to wear my magic red shoes, eh Greyfell?” Dean’s face fell into a frown of uncertainty although there was no one around to see it now. He wasn’t sure this was the right choice, leaving the area he had mysteriously arrived in. Ten to one odds it was the damn witch they had been following all the way to Moondoor that had sent him to this place. Sam and Charlie were probably freaking out wondering where he had gone. He hoped they were okay. 

As he trotted along, birds were singing and the sun was warm overhead. Late Spring looked to be in full swing here. But his thoughts turned darker and darker as he imagined every way in which his friends and brother might be getting into trouble while he wasn’t there to protect them. This wasn’t like being put under a spell like it had been with the Jinn. Back then he hadn’t been aware that anything was happening, believing that it had been his true life he was leading in the illusion, but here he knew this wasn’t his world. 

A voice distracted him from the growing anxious thoughts and the sound of horse hooves trotting down the trail behind him accompanied it.

“Ho there!” A man came riding up beside him in a dark blue tunic, wearing in sheaves of metal armor over his shoulders. Dean tried not to be annoyed at his ease with the horse he rode. It was the darker horse from earlier. This must have been the man the little monk spoke of. A knight? 

“Greeting fellow traveler,” the man said grandly.

Dean mustered a polite smile for him. “Hey.”

“And, fellow knight, I presume?”

This was awkward. Dean nodded in a wobbly way that could have meant anything. Let the man think of that what he would. He seemed to take Dean’s silence for assent.

“The road is seldom safe traveled alone, and you do not even carry a shield. We would do better if we traveled together. What say you?”

As much as Dean didn’t feel like company he couldn’t help but admit having someone else around would probably prove useful. “Why not? We’re headed the same way anyhow.”

“My thoughts exactly. I am Sir Jediver of Lubrucken, and what do they call you?

“Dean Winchester, uh, of Kansas.”

“Kansas? Where is this?” 

“It’s uh…West of here.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“Oh, really? That’s surprising.”

“It must be very small.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s that small.”

“The queen finds the oddest places to harvest her servants from. Half the time they don’t know the front of a horse from its arse!”

Dean raised his eyebrows. 

“Not that you are one of those base simpletons, mind you. You certainly are no young buck, I’m sure you’re not without the experience of age.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be insulted, or flattered. He felt insulted. Who was this guy to be talking about his age when the man himself was at least a decade older than Dean and not nearly as well preserved. “I’ve got plenty of experience, pal,” he told him, “don’t worry.”

“So what business is it you have in Worcheshire?”

“I’m on a quest to find the king,” Dean said with mock boldness. 

“I think it’s rather absurd, everyone calling him the king when he’s not even the king yet.”

“What do you mean?” Dean didn’t really care  _ that  _ much but knowledge was power or something.

“Well he’s not really married to Queen Toranan yet, is he? They’re only engaged. God knows why she wanted to marry that whelp in the first place.” He looked sideways at Dean as if to measure his reaction, and perhaps his loyalty to the king or queen? The only loyalty Dean had in this place was to himself so far,  _ and  _ the horse was growing on him a little…

Sir Jediver’s presence, for all its livery, was already beginning to chafe. It sounded like the man had an awfully high opinion of his own opinion. Dean was tempted to try and annoy the guy in turn but he chose to say nothing. He knew how to keep his cards close to his chest in an uncertain situation. 

“ _ Sir _ Winchester? How many quests have you accomplished?”

“I guess that depends on what you consider a quest.” 

Jediver snorted disdainfully. “One should know if they are on a quest. Who carried out your ceremony?”

“My  _ ceremony _ ?”

“Your knighting ceremony?”

“Lady Bradbury of Moondoor.”

“I’ve never heard of her,” Jediver said airily.

“Really? I expected a man of  _ your age _ to have endless experience and knowledge in that regard.” Dean smiled winningly at him. He had plenty of backhanded compliments to bring to the table if that’s what Jediver wanted. 

“Yes well,” the man allowed himself to lapse into silence for a moment letting Dean think the diatribe had come to a lull. He had oil black hair slicked behind his ears and a rather unimpressive medium build. He didn’t look especially “knightly,” to Dean. He wasn’t sure what he expected “knightly”  _ to  _ look like.

Jediver started up again a moment later. “Tell me, how many maidens have you saved? What manner of beasts have you slain?”

“Maidens?”  _ For the love of god. _ “Isn’t it a little tacky? Boasting about your conquests?”

“Is it  _ what _ ?”

“Tacky. Isn’t it in poor taste to go around bragging?”

“On the contrary, how else are people to know the strength of your character? It is a knight’s duty to tell all of his adventures when he returns from a quest.”

“I guess you can’t really post it on facebook,” Dean muttered, but Sir Jediver didn’t hear him, he had already launched into a recount of the last ‘fair maid’ he had rescued. It was sounding an awful lot like he had interrupted a tryst with this woman’s lover instead of rescuing her from the ‘errant knight’ he was prattling on about, before delivering her back to her husband. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You must have some stories. Unless of course…” Jediver gave Dean a contemptuous look, Dean could see it out of the corner of his eye without looking at him, “you are merely pretending, and claim falsely to be as you say.” He whispered his words as if he was conspiring with Dean, like he could be persuaded to keep Dean’s secret. 

“To be honest Jed, I don’t really care what you think of me.” He got the impression Jediver had been suspicious of him from the start and probably why he had followed Dean. 

“Where is your armor? A knight  _ never  _ takes off his armor unless to sleep, and even then only the weak of spirit do such.”

Dean didn’t want to think about the hygiene on these guys, never taking off their sweaty tunics after lumbering around in chain mail all day and riding horses. He decided to act like he hadn’t heard Jediver’s question. He could have asked the guy the same question, his armor didn’t amount to much more than the mail that Dean wore.

‘Half a day to the duchy,’ the little guy in the monk robe had said. Dean should have thought this out a little better before just gallivanting off. At least the weather was nice, assuming it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He had to crane his head back to look up at the mountains when they came around the bend. Their path led through a narrow valley that ascended into pointing white towers of rock where snow was melting and running down the slopes in cold streams, and in the distance he could see an enormous lake. It must have been a lake because behind it lay more mountains but he could not see the end of it. The water was so vibrant that it wasn’t merely blue but practically teal. 

“You know, under different circumstances this place would be really nice. Get a few tankards of mead, some buxom bar wenches serving you bratwurst, nice spot on the river. You got it made.”

“Bratwurst? What is this?”

“I don’t really know honestly.” 

“Ha, you’re a most unusual person, Sir Winchester.” 

“You got no idea.”

It didn’t take long for the novel beauty of things to wear off enough for Dean to begin complaining. His ass was already getting saddle sore and if he had to listen to Sir Jediver prattling uselessly any longer he was going to lose it. It had been hours. His horse tried to stop and nibble at the weeds on the side of the road again and Dean tugged on the reins. “Hey, focus! It’s not lunch time,” he scolded. “I’d get there faster on a lawnmower at this rate,” he muttered. “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet, but we are making good time.”

“Think I’m gonna walk, just for a second.” Dean carefully swung his leg over the saddle, taking advantage of the fact that the horse was currently preoccupied and not moving to get off. He half hoped Jediver would just ride on ahead but the man got off his horse as well to walk along side him.

They looked up as the rumbling of a small cart along the path ahead came towards them. A group of what Dean could only describe as “peasants” was headed in their way. One old man was driving the cart and two other people in plain old clothes walked beside it. They weren’t moving any faster than a casual walking pace. Dean nodded at them as they went by, trying to get Greyfell to move over to the side of the road so that the horse and cart could pass by. Jediver went through no such trouble. He didn’t even attempt to make room for the others.

The old woman stumbled as she tried to make way for him and nearly tripped right under Jediver’s feet.

Jediver bristled in anger. “Watch where you’re going, you fool!”

Dean’s eyebrows shot into his hair at the knight’s sudden change in tone. Jedivar brushed past the procession and Dean quickly let go of his reins and ducked to help the old woman up. “You okay?”

The woman mumbled a hurried apology over and over. “Hey you don’t need to apologize,” Dean said gently as she righted herself. He let her go. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she said, withdrawing nervously as the man she walked with took her arm.

Dean let her go and watched them trundle slowly on before he looked back to Jediver who had remounted and gone on ahead of him without waiting. 

“Hey, Sir douchebag,” Dean called out. 

“What?” Jedivar asked, his confusion as to what Dean had just said was genuine.

“How much farther you think we got?”

“We have probably just passed the halfway point.”

“We still got a whole other stretch of this? You gotta be kidding me.”

“I do know a shortcut.”

“A shortcut? Do you mean we’ve been going the long way around this whole time?”

“I assumed you wanted to pursue the more scenic route.”

“Why would you assume that?” 

Jediver shrugged. “I can take you if you’d like. It would cut off a small portion of our journey.”

“The shorter the better, I don’t exactly have all the time in the world.”

Jediver smiled a little too joyfully at Dean’s admission. “Excellent. Come then, we will go another road. Beyond this pass there is another way which goes through the forest.”

Dean agreed. It sounded fine. But when they got to the place which Jediver spoke of Dean no longer felt so sure. The forest was in fact very forestry. There was no road or path at all, he had expected at least some sort of a trail. Jediver stalled at the edge of the trees and waited for Dean with a pleasant smile on his face.  _ Don’t leave the path, _ the monk had said. The words echoed ominously now. It didn’t have to mean anything, he might have merely been trying to caution Dean against getting lost.

“Come Sir Winchester, we shall be at Worcheshire before the sun begins to fall,” Jediver said optimistically.

Dean rode on and followed as Jediver passed into the trees. 


	3. Chapter 3

The forest was cool and pleasant, birds were chirping overhead. He relaxed a little. “I killed some dragons once,” he told Jediver conversationally. 

“Dragons? Preposterous.” He laughed as if Dean were joking.

“Oh yeah,” Dean said, affecting the same boastful tone that Jediver had used earlier. “They were holed up under the city kidnapping virgins, an entire clan of ‘em. They were able to take human form.”

“I’ve never heard such a thing.”

“You wouldn’t believe what kinda monsters are hiding out there, just waiting to pounce.”

“I feel safer with you near then, Sir Winchester. Should we run into a ghoul or goblin, I shall be well protected.”

Dean stared at the back of Jediver’s head suspiciously. He had become awfully nice all all of a sudden. “Get a lot of those around here?” 

“Mostly at night in the Brackish Moors, but yes they are around. One can never be too careful.”

So there were monsters even in this pristine little fairy tale world? Figured.

The humidity was cloistering as they got deeper into the wood. Dean tugged at the chain mail around his neck and weighed whether it was worth it to take it off or not. 

Jediver took a pouch like waterskin out of his satchel and removed the top, taking a long drink before replacing it back in his bag. He glanced back at Dean. “Oh, how rude of me. You must be thirsty. Here,” he took out the waterskin again and offered it to Dean, “please, help yourself.”

“I’m good but thanks.” Dean had been a hunter too long to be that trusting. He’d been roofied more than once by seemingly well meaning people. 

“Why don’t you hold on to this one just in case. I have an extra in my other bag.”

“I don’t have anywhere to put it.” 

Jediver shrugged. “Alas.” He put the water away. “It is here should you desire it.”

It wasn’t long before Dean had been swatted in the face by twiggy branches for the umpteenth time and been nearly unseated from his horse trying to walk right under fallen tree branches before he asked again how far they had to go. Jediver was about to speak but a loud crashing sound startled them. 

His horse let out a whinny and danced back and forth anxiously, leaving Dean to hold on tightly.

The wood was very suddenly filled by a cacophony of splintering cracking violence, banishing the humid silence and muffled bird song in its wake. 

They saw it emerge from the trees with the speed of a swift moving snake, the slender bows broke before it as it thrashed its way through the underbrush. Nothing in hell or earth had he seen like this. Wildly undulating and serpentine but standing upright like a man with it’s many legs. 

When Dean looked back Jediver was nowhere to be seen. He had bolted the way they came. Dean only caught sight of the tail end of him disappearing through the trees. There was no way Dean could get away or catch up to Jediver even if his horse obeyed him, and it was beyond doing so now.

He instinctively jumped off the horse and went for a weapon that was not there. He had no gun , no knives, nothing- only this stupid wooden sword which he grabbed impulsively anyway. It came free of its scabbard and a long yard of shining steel swung out before him. How had he not noticed that?! It should have been the first thing he checked- he could feel stupid for it later but he didn’t have time now to think about it. 

The monster caught sight or scent of him and struck out in his direction. Greyfell darted off the way the other horse had gone in terror. Dean braced himself. The sword was unfamiliar in his hands. He wasn’t used to using a weapon this long but he managed to beat back a blow when the creature came down on him. The blade cut straight through one of the monster's scaly arms like butter and he was grateful the blade was sharp. Sharper than anything he was used to. 

It struck out again. It was faster than Dean by far and claws raked across his forearm. He thrust the sword into the center of the thing and it screamed. The monster convulsed away from him and he finished it off with one hard stroke. He conjured as much strength into that blow as he could and because the blade was extraordinarily sharp, and perhaps because he was particularly skilled at severing monster heads, the serpent’s head came clean off, leaving the body to wriggle and twitch and fall in a wormy pile on the forest floor, its long tongue flopping out of its reptilian snout. 

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest as he held up the longsword and stared at its gleaming reflection in wonder, now covered in dark purple blood. He stared down at the monster. It’s fluids were oozing into the dirt and smoking with a sizzling hiss. 

Monsters here were worse, he decided, but at least they  _ looked  _ like monsters. Not hard to pick that thing out of a crowd.

He left the sizzling dead lizard and went to find his horse thinking that Jediver had better hope Dean didn’t find him as well. 

But Dean did find him. Jediver was waiting in a small clearing with both the horses nearby and he stood up when Dean arrived and made a huge show of looking relieved. “Thank God, you’re alright. Is it gone, I tried to turn back but my horse-”

“Cut the crap, professor Snape. Where is she?”

“What?”

“Who put you up to this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Where is the witch,” Dean yelled and grabbed him by the collar.

“I was only told to find prince Ceridwen and convince him not to return to Alganon that was my only task I don’t know any witch I swear, please-” Jediver’s words spilled out in a rush.

Dean released him and pushed him aside. He would have left the man there and taken the horses but he was even more turned around than before. He pointed his sword at him, feeling that it was a very theatrical gesture. “Get up.” 

Jediver scrambled to his feet, twigs and leaves clinging to his tunic.

“There was never any short cut was there?” The way Jediver winced away from him confirmed it. “Take us back to the road, or your head is coming off next.”

Dean made Jediver ride ahead and kept an eye on him. It was slow and obnoxious work to backtrack and by the time they had made it out of the forest the sun was getting low and they were still nowhere near Worcheshire.

They rode in relative silence with Jediver in front and Dean following behind, his mind already working on the scenario like it was a case. He reminded himself he wasn’t here to mess around and hunt monsters even if the setting was finally fitting for that kind of thing. Still, this prince Ceridwen was sure the hot topic of wherever this was.

“Will you tell them?” Jediver asked after a while.

“Who?”

“Whoever you’re going to see at the castle.”

“About your treacherous plot, you mean? Dunno. Haven’t really decided yet.” Dean hadn’t even considered ratting Jediver out, he wouldn’t have known  _ who  _ to rat him out to. And a  _ castle?  _ Was there an honest to god castle waiting for him?

They came at last to a large bridge that spanned a gorge. Once Jediver had reached the other side, with the hooves of the horse clopping across the giant blocks of stone, he paused and turned his horse around to face Dean. 

Dean was halfway across the bridge and he could see that at the bottom of the gorge a thin trickling creek ran below, it must have only been fifteen feet down. Atop his horse, leaning and looking at the drop sent a wave of vertigo over him and he pulled himself quickly vertical. 

“This has been fun, Winchester,” Jediver said.

And even before Jediver could finish Dean knew he had messed up and let his guard down.

“But I really have a job to do” Jediver continued, “and this is where our little journey ends- _ at least for you.”  _ He smiled with wicked satisfaction.

Two men clambered up out of the ditch behind Dean. They flanked him on the other end of the bridge. 

“Are you serious? What the hell do you have against me?” Dean asked. “We don’t even know each other!”

“I  _ am  _ sorry, Winchester. It is truly nothing personal but I cannot risk that you may actually find prince Cerdwin and free him. If the prince marries Toranan will control his father’s army and conquer the last remaining kingdoms of my master, and he is not keen on allowing such a thing to pass.”

“No kidding,” Dean drawled. If he was going to have to fight he was no good on top of a horse. He dismounted from Greyfell. Then he put on his bargaining-with-the-authorities voice and gave Jediver his best puppy dog eyes. “Will you at least let my horse go? It isn’t his fault he’s here.”

Jediver’s brows knitted together and then he laughed at Dean. “You really are a strange man, Winchester. Fear not, I have no intention of harming a valuable mount. He’ll bring me a nice bonus when we sell the rest of your belongings tomorrow.” He looked very pleased with himself and the other vagrants on the other side of the bridge snickered.

Dean unbelted his sword and placed it on the ground in a show of defeat and then approached Jediver slowly, appearing to have no intention of fighting him. He held his hands up as he went and handed Jediver the reins to his horse. 

And then he grabbed him by the tunic and hauled him bodily from the saddle.

It was stupid really, how easily the guy let Dean get over on him. 

Jediver hit the stones with a hard thump and an ‘oof’ as the wind went out of him. Behind Dean there was a cry of attack and the other men came charging across the bridge. Dean pulled the dagger off of Jediver’s belt- now  _ this  _ he could use.

He managed to flip one guy over before the other one tackled him around the midsection and sent them both nearly careening over the side of the bridge. 

Jediver had taken the opportunity to get up and draw his sword. Dean saw him raise it high over his head with a yell and the intent to cleave straight through Dean most likely but his body seized up and the sword wobbled above him uncertainly for a moment before falling to the stones behind him with a riotous clang. He fell over dead with an arrow protruding out of his chest. Dean only had a second to register the flash of something white racing towards them and then he was wrestling with his attacker. The man was strong but Dean was faster and quicker with a knife. 

They staggered off the bridge, to the other side, and Dean caught him in the ribs with an elbow. The momentum of the other man sent them tumbling into the gorge. Thank god it was springtime and the ground was soft and green because the way down was rough and he tried to stop himself from sliding but the man who had fallen with him continued to grab at him, forcing them to tumble even harder until they finally rolled in the wet armpit of the ditch. There was a lot of splashing in the shallow water and Dean was shoved onto his back by his attacker when he finally got his footing. Unfortunately for the other man his own force was his undoing and he impaled himself on the knife as they fell. 

Dean shoved the bandit off of him as the man died and got to his feet. There didn’t seem to be anyone else coming after him. His attacker died the same as every other human thing Dean had killed. It took Dean a moment to register it. He hadn’t expected to be killing actual people here and he felt like somehow someone had changed the rules on him. He staggered back slowly out of the wet part of the ditch. A strange wavy sensation came over him and the air suddenly became like colored cellophane around him. He would have dismissed it as a side effect of adrenaline until he looked down and saw he had just stepped into a ring of brightly red capped mushrooms. “Oh shi-” 

The world cut him off by fading very suddenly around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Soft trickling water was burbling somewhere nearby. Dean opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember what he had been doing or where he was. It felt like he had been asleep for days. His eyelids were heavy and he had to blink them multiple times before he accepted that it wasn’t his eyes making things seem fuzzy. He groaned and rolled onto his side feeling the soft loam beneath him. He was still in a deep gorge but it looked like twilight had come over everything and all around him the plants and rocks were suffused with a soft unnatural glow. The bridge was no longer dark mossy stone, now it was white like marble but the light made it look as if it sparkled. 

He had another nasty shock as he turned and came face to face with a giant monster. It was at least eight feet tall, wearing a long dark robe and a mask made of what looked like a deer skull with giant protruding antlers.

He looked around frantically for the knife but couldn’t see it anywhere.

The monster raised its hands and removed its hood. It took off the headdress to reveal… a beautiful young woman with soft dark hair and a pretty narrow face. Without the headdress she was shorter than Dean. “You were the last person I ever expected to see here,” the erstwhile monster said.

“Gilda?” 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Man, I am- I am so glad to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same but if you’re here it probably means something is wrong.”

“Honestly I’m not really sure. I don’t even know how I got here. I was back at Moondoor and then bam suddenly I was here talking to some woman in a big dress who thinks she’s the queen.”

She looked thoughtful. “You may have been summoned here.”

“I was thinking it was the witch we were hunting.”

“Yes. They want to use you for their own gains, or prevent you from stopping them.”

“...Am I dead or dreaming or something? I know I didn’t eat any of those mushrooms but it sure looks like I did.”

“You are in my realm.” 

“Like, the fairy realm? Huh. Pretty cool.” Dean took another look around. “What happened to the other guys?”

“They aren’t here. Only you passed through.”

Dean started to ask another question, he had so many questions, but Gilda interrupted him. “Dean listen to me, there isn’t much time. I want to help you but if it is the witch I think it is you’re not going to get out of here until you kill them.”

“That was kinda the plan anyways.” 

“There is only one weapon that can stop them in this world. You will have to go to the forest of Esclepius to find it. It waits for the right person to wield it for its true purpose.” She paused as if to listen. “I cannot say more. You must go now, my enchantment is fading- and Dean,” she blushed, “give Charlie my regards won’t you?” 

He couldn’t help a smile. “I will.”

As she looked at him her face became serious again. “Good luck.”

That same wave of liquid vertigo came over him once more and he floundered for a few seconds in a confusing haze of indistinct colors and shape, when he blinked he thought he was still in the fairy realm because of the light. The sun was gone and overhead a lilac sunset was brushed across the sky but the colors around him no longer dazzled. He was still in the gorge but he was on soft grass, apparently lying down, and there was someone kneeling next to him.

“Easy now, friend,” a deep voice said. 

Dean pushed himself up onto one elbow trying not to let the whiplash of everything freak him out. He looked at the person beside him. He opened his mouth to ask something but forgot it immediately as he took in the man whose hand was on his shoulder supporting him. He had hair the color of rich dark chocolate and eyes Dean didn’t have an immediate word for, maybe hazel-ish, maybe emerald. His beard was just a shadow on his strong jawline in the twilight. 

“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t awaken.”

Dean continued to stare, only gathering more questions and no answers as he did so. This man wore chainmail longer than Dean’s and it did not cover his arms or shoulders. Dean stared at the forearm close to him attached to the strong hand that held Dean’s shoulder. He wasn’t used to seeing anyone up close this…  _ well shaped _ . He could see the cords of smooth muscle in his forearms where his bracers ended and the heroic portions of his biceps just below the cut of his sleeves…

“Uh…” Dean said elegantly. He tried to ask how long he had been out but decided he didn’t want to know.

“You have a very interesting fighting style. I’ve never seen anyone handle a dagger like that.”

Dean pushed himself up the rest of the way to a sitting position. “What happened? Where’s Jediver?” He remembered too late the arrow sticking out of the man’s chest. “Are they dead?”

“Yes,” the stranger said somberly.

“I guess I have you to thank for helping me out back there, huh?”

“I followed Crusican from the queen’s rally in Alganon where he stole my shield and sword and assumed another’s identity.”

“Crusican?”

“Yes, the man you traveled with, his real name is Crusican and he is no knight.”

Dean had suspected as much. “It’s too bad, I didn’t like the guy but I didn’t necessarily wanna kill him, I mean...a little bit but...”

The other man appraised him with his dark hazel eyes. “You are kind. Most people would not have been so generous after his attempt on their life.” He stood up and offered Dean a hand. “Can you stand?”

Dean took the offered hand and was alarmed by the swift strength by which he was pulled to his feet.

“That’s no sword wound,” the man said looking at the claw marks across Dean’s arm. 

“This? No we were attacked in the forest by some giant lizard- thing. I’m not sure what it was.”

“An adder? You should clean this as soon and as well as possible. Their wounds are notoriously prone to festering quickly. You are lucky it did not bite you; you would be dead already.”

“ I guess I...guess I got lucky.” If you could call being attacked by a monster luck.

They started to make their way up the steep incline out of the ditch. There was a sudden intense pain in Dean’s leg and he stumbled, the stranger was there to catch him immediately with a strong arm. Dean tested his weight on the leg again. He must have sprained something going down. It wasn’t too badly injured but walking was going to be nearly impossible right away.

“Give me your weight,” the man said by which Dean assumed he meant to lean on him, and they managed to get up to the road without too much trouble. 

The bodies of the other two men were still there. They had been dragged to the side of the road and laid side by side with their faces covered.

Dean’s handsome stranger held Grayfell’s reins as he pulled himself up, putting his uninjured foot in the stirrup and swinging his leg over. 

The stranger hushed the horse softly as it shook with agitation and grew still under his hands. He stroked the creature’s neck and gazed up at Dean. “I am Sir Gwyn,” he told Dean. And here, Dean thought, was a real knight, the unrealistic kind you heard about in stories. The kind that probably never existed. 

“I’m...Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

“I think it may be fate that our paths crossed this day.”

Dean honestly wouldn’t have been surprised at this point. Fate... or someone’s evil machinations.

“Where do you travel to?”

“Worcheshire.” Dean hoped he got it right this time. “I’m looking for prince Ceridwen.”

“Ceridwen?” Gwyn looked thoughtful and stepped away from the horse so Dean could take up the reins. “I only came this way to find Crusican, but I will accompany you to Worcheshire. There may still be some of his villains on the road. I would not see you set upon while you are at a disadvantage.”

Dean could hardly refuse Gwyn’s offer. It seemed a better bet than Jediver’s had been at any rate.

Gwyn went to his horse and Dean stared wide eyed at this as well, the horse was a great white stallion that pawed at the ground impatiently and snorted when Gwyn approached.

Whatever Jediver hadn’t been in knightly form Gwyn had it in spades. He seemed a classic ‘white knight,’ and he’d thrown in his lot with Dean. Dean was starting to think this really was just some crazy dream but it just wasn’t the kind of thing  _ he  _ would have dreamed. This was the kind of thing Sam’s brain would have come up with with all his stupid fairytale lore, not Dean’s.

They rode past the great lake Dean had seen from afar and as the last hues of sunset were leaving them. He couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was here. There was no background noise anywhere, no distant sounds of traffic or airplanes or anything at all, only the occasional rustle of a breeze now that the birds had gone for the evening.

“Once we make it through this next pass there is an inn not too far ahead,” Gwyn informed him. “But we should stop here and clean your wounds.”

Dean would have rather pressed on but Gwyn seemed very serious about the festering adder wounds and Dean wasn’t going to question the monster knowledge of a man in his own realm where Dean was a novice to everything. 

Gwyn skillfully started a fire by the shore using items from his horse’s satchel, and drew a small pot of water from the lake which he heated on it. The fire was smaller than a cooking fire but it seemed to do the trick. He added some kind of plant to the water that set Dean’s sinuses to clearing when he got a whiff. And finally he told Dean to take a seat and roll up his sleeve. Dean unlaced the bracer on his left arm and pulled the soft leather sleeve up to his elbow. He grimaced at the three red lines there. They did look a little purple and strange. It gave him an unexpected jolt of anxiety, how did he not notice they were getting worse? A lot had been going on, that was all. 

Gwyn dipped a folded piece of cloth into the hot water and took Dean’s arm carefully which he pressed the near scalding fabric to. Dean gritted his teeth and refused to make a sound as the heat and contact burned against the open wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Gwyn said quietly, keeping his eyes on his task. “It works best if it is as hot as possible.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said tightly. “I’ve had worse.”

Gwyn looked up at him with a curious expression. “Your accent, you are not from here? Where are you from?”

“It’s a strange place,” Dean said. “I don’t think anyone here has heard of it. It’s called Kansas. But I mean, I’ve done a lot of traveling.” Gwyn removed the fabric and soaked it again. Dean braced himself for the burn this time as Gwyn put it to his skin with renewed heat. He closed his eyes tightly, trying not to show his discomfort. When he opened them Gwyn was looking at him, his eyes were carefully examining Dean’s face with an unfamiliar ease, as if he was not concerned that Dean would see him staring. Dean averted his gaze, feeling weirdly exposed under the unhurried scrutiny of the knight’s beautiful eyes. The firelight caught them and lent a ring of reddish gold around his pupils, making Dean think that perhaps they weren’t just hazel. 

When Gwyn was satisfied with his ministrations he finished it off by rubbing some sort of ointment over Dean’s skin. Dean hadn’t expected that touch. Literally. He was almost knee to knee with a man he had met less than an hour ago and now the guy was rubbing oil on Dean’s arm in a way that was making it hard to sit still. He associated this kinda thing with people he was intimate with and even then most of the people who helped patch him up were a little rough and prickly with him, usually scolding him while they were at it.

Gwyn’s lightly calloused palms rubbed across his skin with surprising gentleness, his expression was smooth and he didn’t speak. His fingers stroked the underside of Dean’s forearm as he went and the muscles in Dean’s thighs tightened with a repressed shiver. He fought back the instant impulse to pull away knowing that would have made it even weirder. Gwyn wrapped a dry strip of cloth around the scratches and tucked it under so it would stay. 

There wasn’t much point of the bracers anymore so Dean didn’t bother with replacing the one he’d removed. “Thanks,” he said when it was all done.

“Please, do not mention it,” Gwyn told him, his tone the very cantor of chivalry.

They rode for a while longer with Jediver’s horse in tow before signs of human habitation appeared. Lanterns cropped up along the road and they went over another bridge where houses became plentiful. Most were like log cabins, the buildings made predominantly of wood. Gwyn led them to a place off the road to the right, it was multi-storied with high mullioned windows and a glowing lantern burning out front above the door. “We can rest here,” he said.


End file.
